Skeleton in the closet

A skeleton sits in the closet. It sits quietly, doesn't mean to move. Don't wake him up. He sits still, he doesn't breath anyway. Just be sure to leave the closet closed. A drunken Marzena could tumble out. The skeleton is blabbing something incoherently. Let him be! It is not nice, what he says. Skeleton rattles his bones. Shut the door, lock it! It's not nice, what he says. Bury him, cremate him! Call him echo! The skeleton found his soul. He looks at it amazed, strokes it with one finger lovingly, and then, rattling his bones, leaves the closet. Marzena is holding scales in her hands. The skeleton handles her little pebbles. Two precious stones, little pile of shimmering pebbles. What's left is cinder. Marzena, it's not up to you to judge. Marzena looks quietly. She smiles silent smile. You know, I am yours. Pebbles are glittering. What about cinder, the crowd is hissing. Everyone has some. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, December 2010